Today I started my two-day scuba adventure in the Great Barrier Reef (that's right, you heard me correctly: the Great Barrier Reef, as in the one-and-only-natural-formation-visible-from-the-moon Great Barrier Reef). This was the part of the trip I'd been most anticipating -- it's the reason I shelled out $250 to get SSI diving certification in the first place.
Actually, the trip didn't start off particularly well. Although we would be spending the bulk of the excursion on a sleek clipper ship, we first had to take a four-hour boat ride on a small dingy to get to it. This wouldn't have bothered me so much but for the incredibly rough sea, which rocked and tossed our boat about like a plastic tub toy. Nonetheless, the first half of the journey found me managing quite nicely. But eventually, the churning sea elicited a churning stomach, and I found myself searching for the lowest, most central part of the boat. There I met Chloe', a fellow seasick traveler from France. We engaged in light conversation and attempted to ignore the rolling Pacific. Ironically, Chloe' is studying to be a marine biologist -- an odd career path for a self-professed chronic seasickness sufferer! She was interesting to talk to (and spoke English remarkably well), so the time passed cheerfully enough -- especially after Chloe' offered me an anti-nausea pill. Eventually, I met Chloe's friend Marie and several other passengers, including Monika from Sweden, four girls from Austria and, somewhat surprisingly, three guys from the U.S., one who hailed from New Jersey (thus effectively doubling the number of Americans I've met on my entire trip).
-----------------------------------Chloe' and Marie---------------------------------
Although I had my doubts at times that it would, the boat trip from Hell finally ended and the Atlantic Clipper came into view. A redesigned 19th-century sailing vessel, the ship had a lot of charm and was far more comfortable and stable than the "Dingy of Death." We boarded the ship, met the crew and were shown to our berths (I was one of the fortunate few to get a room all to myself).
---------------------------------The Atlantic Clipper--------------------------------
Then it was time to dive! I donned my gear and met my diving buddy (who turned out to be the lovely Monika -- did I mention she was from Sweden?!). We did our pre-dive buddy check and then entered the sea. I had done a so-called "reef dive" in Hawaii, and as great as I thought that was at the time, it didn't prepare me for this. Before me were huge walls and gardens of colorful coral (brain, antler, mushroom and every other type), which formed an underwater world of breathtaking beauty, one with its own forests, mountains, valleys and caves. And the fish, my goodness! I saw school upon school of brightly-hued ocean dwellers, shimmering curtains of sealife. There were countless varieties and I was hard-pressed to name many, but I did pick out some parrot fish, moorish idols, butterfly fish and giant tropical clams. I took pictures like a madman and quickly used up the entire roll. Unfortunately for me, I had no film left when I came upon a gaint Maori wrasse (easily five feet long and 300 pounds), a greenish-brown monstrosity, as ugly as it was impressive -- so this Kodak Moment will only be exposed in my mind's eye.
------------------------"I'd Like To Be, Under The Sea..."-----------------------
---------------"...In Our Little Hideaway Beneath The Waves"-----------
Within a half-hour, the dive was over. Monika and I reboarded the ship, delighted and amazed by what we had witnessed.
After a one-hour surface interval, Monika and I dove in again, determined this time to explore some caves and crevices in the reef. We found several openings, but most were too narrow to squeeze through. The first navigable one we found was "The Tunnel of Ooohhh," which has a very low entrance, but leads to a larger chamber. Upon entering the cavern, you pass through a thermocline and the cool water suddenly warms considerably (so much so that one is inclined to say "ooohhh," hence the name) and your eyes are greeted by a new coral and fish wonderland. Another tunnel started at about 16 meters down and worked its way up through the coral bed, terminating a few feet below the surface. This passage was even tighter than the first, and I got momentarily stuck. Extricating myself proved costly, as I cut my exposed upper arms and lower legs to ribbons on the sharp coral, necessitating a healthy application of antiseptic cream when I later resurfaced (coral spores are known to lead to nasty infections). A couple of other caves we found were larger and offered a window to otherwise hidden sealife, but they proved less adventurous. As our air supplies dwindled, Monika and I decided to try one last tunnel (it ended abruptly in a coral cul-de-sac) before making our ascent.
After drying off and donning civilian clothing, I joined the others for dinner. It was a good meal which I ate greedily, enjoying several servings of meat, potatoes and vegies, an entire loaf of bread and two heaping bowls of apple crumble a' la mode for dessert (I guess scuba diving builds up an appetite!).
Then it was time for my third (and most eagerly awaited) dive of the trip -- the night dive. There was something downright spooky about the thought of going into the open ocean in pitch-darkness (true, I'd have a torch, but that would only illuminate the path directly in front of me) -- there were many angles from which sharks, lionfish, barracudas and Lord-knows-what-else could stalk me undetected and pop out of nowhere at any time, frightening me half to death or even (shudder, shudder) taking a little nibble. I knew I'd be like a kid in his first haunted house, simultaneously dreading that sudden scare and looking forward to it. First however, I'd have to face an even bigger fear -- leaving the warm, comfortable cabin and my dry clothes to put on a damp wetsuit on the windy, 50-degree deck.
I poked a tentative limb out out the cabin door and my worst fears were realised: the frigid wind seared my naked flesh. I took a couple of deep breaths and bolted for the relative protection of my wetsuit -- though damp, it kept the worse chill of the bitter wind at bay. I then prepped my scuba unit in record time and got into the temperate sea as soon as possible.
I welcomed the warmth of the water, but hesitated diving down nonetheless, still a little freaked out by the eeriness of it all. But curiosity prevailed over cautiousness (as it almost always does), and down, down, down I went.
The reef looked very different at night, and thus it called for a very different approach. Instead of zipping through it, trying to cover as much ground (er, water) as possible, my buddy and I slowed things down. We lingered at places, closely examining cracks, crevices and hollows for resting fish and feeding coral. Our patience was richly rewarded: we saw two sea turtles (one of which we coaxed into a late night swim), a lionfish and untold pairs of apparently ownerless eyes with an orange aura (upon closer inspection, we discovered that those tiny glowing orbs were attached to scores of prawns).
The night dive was all too brief, and I was sorry to see it end -- there was an added mystery and drama to it that can't be duplicated during the day.
As soon as I got back on deck, I quickly stripped off my gear and wetsuit and dashed inside the ship to escape the cold night air. Utterly exhausted and chilled to the bone, I gladly took a hot shower and put on some dry, comfy clothes before joining the others in the main cabin. I sought out my French friends, Chloe' and Marie (attracted as I was becoming to Chloe', I could think of no better way to spend the rest of the evening than talking with her). As the night wore on, I suggested a game of cards -- the three of us played Rummy, followed by a round of Hearts.
At 11:00 p.m., we decided to call it quits, and I bid the girls au revoir.
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